


Awakening

by AnnaofAza



Series: the sleep series [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Mark of Cain, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s09e18 Meta Fiction, Protective Castiel, Season 9, Self-Esteem Issues, Slight Season 10 spoilers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you such a willing lamb to the slaughter?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

Dean woke up to the hinges of the motel room door squealing.

Snatching his gun from the nightstand and flipping the bedside light on in one motion, he swung his legs out of bed and pointed his weapon at the intruder. He hoped Sam heard the noise from his room and came running, because if this turned ugly, he would need backup.

A treacherous voice whispered inside of his head, _You can do this by yourself, Dean. Remember? You have the Blade, and you can finish the job quickly without bothering Sam._

"Dean?"

Dean didn't lower the gun, even though his shoulders loosened in equal parts relief and dread. "Cas. I should have known you wouldn't have left it at that."

Cas only frowned and gestured towards the open door, still standing in the threshold. "May I come in?"

"You know the drill," Dean replied.

Rolling his eyes, Cas took out the silver dagger Dean had given him before he had kicked Cas out of the bunker— _all you can do is cause pain_ —and tugged up his sleeve, slicing a small line carefully down his arm. Dean silently watched the cut bleed out a little before the wound sealed itself up. Cas glanced at him and held up both hands in the air, shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't have holy water on me, so—"

"Christo." Dean said flatly, and when Cas' eyes didn't flip to black, Dean relaxed, then placed his gun carefully back on the nightstand. As he absentmindedly scratched at the crook of his right arm, Cas entered the room, shutting the door behind him, and sat himself down on the chair by the window. Dean opened the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, flicking off the lid. It clattered onto the tiles, and, sighing, Dean kicked it to the side. 

"Want one?"

"No," Cas replied curtly.

 Dean raised his eyebrows and shook his head, plopping himself down on the edge of the ratty motel bed. "Whoa, so _that's_ how it's going to be, then."

"This isn't a social visit, Dean. I want to talk to you about the Mark."

"Well, it's already done. You're a bit late to the party, Cas." Dean took a swig of the beer and made a face, but ended up swallowing it anyways.

"Did you know the consequences of this, Dean? Who told you? Were you tricked?"

Dean only laughed. "I know enough. It will kill Abaddon and fix this ugly mess." He leaned forward, voice eager and confiding. "And it can probably off Metatron, too. Isn't that what you want?"

"Not at this cost." The vehemence in Cas' voice made Dean's spine tighten.

"I can stop Abaddon and Metatron from ruining—or _ending_ —any more lives, Cas. Don't tell me that this isn't a good thing." _And it's just me. I don't have to drag Sam or you into this mess. Look where it got you guys. Sammy wouldn't have been dragged into a life he didn't want, and Cas_ — _you wouldn't have lost your Grace, your home—_

"No, this isn't good, Dean!" Cas was standing up now, striding across the room towards him. Dean stiffened in place as Cas' hands clamped firmly down on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, furious and desperate. It reminded Dean of being slammed into unforgiving brick, trembling fingers curled in his jacket, blood filling his mouth and running down his chin. _I gave everything for you!_   "You need to stop running towards death! That can't be what you want!"

"I _want_ this all to be over with!" Dean yelled back. He didn't care that he might wake up Sam or any of the motel's others inhabitants. Cas was being _infuriating_ , because couldn't he see all the lives Dean would save? Couldn't he see that all Dean wanted to do was protect as many people as he could, because he didn't want other families to be torn apart because of _his_ stupid mistakes—

"Dean, you are—you are—" Cas tripped over his words as he shook Dean, causing the beer to slop messily out of the bottle and drip down onto his clothes, the bed, and the already-grimy floor. "What about _you_ , Dean, don't you ever think about yourself—"

"I. Don't. _Care_." Dean snarled, wincing as Cas' hands tightened their grip on him. _Don't bother with me._  "Damn it, get _off_ of me!"

 _"No."_ Cas' eyes had not lost their anger. Dean swallowed when Cas' face came so close to his own that he could feel heated breath on his already-flushed skin. "Why are you such a willing lamb to the slaughter; why don't you _care_ —"

Couldn't Cas see that he was better off without him? Couldn't he just see that he no longer _cared,_ that there hadn't been a chance of his own happiness since Mom died? Couldn't he just let Dean do this, just do his _job_ , so Sam could go back to Stanford and live the apple pie dream without monsters tearing up the planet, and Cas could go back home and have a life outside of him? He was _willing;_  he was ready to just give up his world so everyone else could have theirs—

He realized he was practically screaming all of this at Cas, that he was on his feet and leaning up in Cas' personal space and had thrown the beer bottle across the room and that it had soaked clean through the battered rug near the door, but he couldn't stop and kept going, spitting self-loathing and watching the fury build up in the angel's eyes.

"It's not like anyone else would care, so why shouldn't I—"

Cas kissed him.

Rough lips pressed up against his, and Cas was _everywhere,_ tongue forcing open the seam of his mouth, hands rucking up his shirt, fingers clenching and tugging his hair. Dean's feet moved shakily as he stumbled backwards, until he was up against the hotel door. His head jolted back, slamming into the wall, neck bared. His heart pounded against his chest, rough and almost punishing, reminding him of the Impala racing over unpaved roads.

Cas' mouth never left his, never bit down on his collarbone or traveled to the back of his ear, but it was overwhelming all the same—surrounding him, pulling at his bottom lip to trace his tongue over his teeth and the roof of his mouth, yanking Dean flush up against his body, fisting his hands in his shirt, and pressing down on his shoulder blades. Dean didn't think about breathing, didn't think about how and why this was happening. He just opened his mouth and pressed back harder, because the throb in his arm was just a distant thing, because he wanted this, because it was _Cas._

When they finally pulled away, the front of Cas' coat was askew and Dean's shirt was rumpled, while both their lips were swollen and tender. Cas laid one gentle press against his forehead, and Dean breathed in the scent that he could only describe as _Cas_ , like electricity in the air before the first rumble of thunder, all foreboding and power trapped in a human body. Hands smoothed down his shirt, straightening it, and ran over his hair.

His knees were weak, his body pliant but pleasantly thrumming, and he sighed, "I love you, Cas," and—

* * *

Dean jerked awake.

_What the Hell?_

He scanned the motel room, covers kicked onto the floor. Dean was alone, and he ran fingers through his hair. The Blade was on the nightstand to his right. There was no Sam next door and no Cas outside. His heart no longer pounded and his lungs no longer swallowed down air.

The Mark burned, red-hot against his skin. He felt hunger rising, begging for blood to be spilled, hot silver running through his veins. Dean remembered smashing his way through the bunker, swinging the axe easily through the air, and laughing darkly as he chased Sam down the empty halls. He could sense Sam's naked fear trying to masquerade as adrenaline and anger, blood pumping frantically through his veins as he ran. Sam had forgotten that demons had powers, and that Dean was stronger and faster now, that this was the _new_ Dean. And like before—no, _much_ better than before—Dean didn't care.  _  
_

 _Yes._ No more taking care of Sammy, no more guilt, no more pain. It felt  _good,_ and he was finally doing something for himself for once. 

_Sammy, come out, come out, wherever you are. Do you remember when we played hide-and-seek in the crappy motel rooms Dad made us camp down in while he dragged us all around the country? I always found you, Sammy. I always will._

Sam thought  _he_ was the monster? Oh, the _hypocrite_! The idea of that he was better because he was  _human?_ Demons were humans: humans without that rot spoiling under, humans that would tell the truth when no one else would, humans that were bared to the moon and howled because they were  _free._

_I hate demons. I hate you._

"I'm going to find you, Cas," Dean sang softly into the dark. "See if you hate me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 5.04 of Buffy, "Out of My Mind," where Spike receives revelation about his growing feelings for the Slayer via a (rather quickly escalating) dream.


End file.
